Someone Else's Story
by Chance2
Summary: All roads lead to one destination. Written as part of the team sga ficathon from the prompt 'an AU where the character's roles are mixed up'.


_Long ago, in someone else's story, someone with my name who looked a lot like me…_

* * *

John Sheppard had always known that he was different. As a child growing up on Athos, he'd known that he was a foundling – one of a number of children from individual worlds culled nearly to the point of extinction and "found" by the Athosians. John didn't remember his world or his family. He only remembered Charin and the Athosian village where he had lived since the age of four.

He had a wild streak during his adolescent years. Charin worried and watched, and eventually he outgrew it, all except his love of flying machines. Whenever he would go off-world to trade, he would come back with stories about the various cultures he encountered and the ways they got from here to there. Anything advanced was rare, but the Luknan had their palorathan, and the Velarse had a new contraption called a huros that they used to track the migration of the jurit deer. And John would have given anything to be able to go up in them.

Tonight, as on any clear night, he stood at the entrance of his tent, staring up at the sky with a wistful gaze. He wanted to be up there, to escape the boundaries of whatever kept him tethered to the ground.

"John?"

He turned and found Charin regarding him with worry and sadness in her eyes. "You are unhappy," she said.

"No," he replied, shaking his head as he took a step back into the warm light of the tent. "Just restless."

"You have always been restless," Charin said. "This is not the same. What is it?"

John lowered himself onto a floor mat, folding his long legs under himself. "Do you ever feel like there's something more out there? Something waiting for you?"

Charin leaned forward, intent on what he was saying. He'd always loved that about her – whenever she listened to him, even when he was a child and his stories consisted of nothing more than who won the race to the creek, she gave him her undivided attention. It always made him feel important and worthwhile.

"Is this feeling a longing for something more, or a portent of some ill news?" she asked.

John shrugged. "I don't know, but it's unsettling, all the same."

Charin sighed and pushed herself to her feet. John jumped up to help her, and it chilled him to know that she's not as young as she once was. She accepted his help, but pushed away once she was standing, and began puttering around the tent as she spoke. "John, I have always known that a village as small as ours could not keep you forever."

"I don't want to leave," he said quietly.

"But you will." She came over to him and cupped his face in one wrinkled hand. "And you will do great things, I have no doubt."

John didn't know about that, but he hoped that maybe, somehow, he could become that man that Charin thought he was.

* * *

Rodney ran. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and a stitch in his side threatened to tear him in two, but still he ran. He only had to make it to the ring and he could escape. Fifty more paces, a hundred at the outside, and he was free.

_But for how long?_ the treacherous voice in his head asked. _They'll find you. They'll hunt you down. They always do, and when they do, they'll kill you. They'll make you suffer for what you've done._

"What they made me do," he wheezed. He could barely hear his own voice over the sound of his own thundering heartbeat and pounding feet. He slid a little as he headed down an embankment, righted himself, and kept running.

_They'll never stop_, the voice continued, and he recognized the slimy tones, the rasping quality. It was a voice that had haunted him for five years. Five excruciatingly long years, even after its owner was dead – blown to whatever underworld could contain such monsters. As dead as Rodney could make him.

Still they came, in greater numbers now. This was no longer about sport; this was about revenge.

But Rodney knew something about revenge, and the only way he could get revenge was if he could outmaneuver the bastards right now.

He slowed marginally as he topped a ridge and caught sight of the ring. In the distance he could hear the whine of an approaching dart.

"Fuckers," he rasped, and ran.

* * *

Dr. Ronon Dex sat on a chair in the SGC conference room and waited to hear his fate. He hated being passive, not having control, particularly when his fate was in the hands of an Air Force general. It wasn't that he disliked the military – he had respect for the work they did and what they sacrificed. But once upon a time, he'd thought that any scientist who worked for a big corporation was a sell-out and those that worked for the government were worse.

Yet here he was, heart in his throat, waiting to find out if he was going to be able to go on the greatest adventure he could ever ask for. He wanted this more than he'd wanted anything, even his first telescope when he was seven, and he had begged every day for six months to get that. It didn't matter who he would be working for anymore, or that the money wasn't as good as in the private sector, he wanted an escape, a challenge, something to stretch the limits of his mind and his body. He couldn't get that here on Earth, so if he had to suck it up and work for The Man, then so be it.

The general opened the door and stuck his head out, crooking a finger at him. When Ronon entered the general's office, Dr. Weir looked up from her seat in front of the desk. She didn't look happy.

"So, Dr. Dex," General O'Neill said, taking a seat as well. "I hear you want to go to Atlantis."

"Yes." At Dr. Weir's significant cough, he grudgingly added, "Sir."

"I also hear you beat up Dr. Kavanaugh."

"I hit him," Ronon admitted. "Once. I didn't even break his nose."

The general steepled his fingers together. "Normally, I might applaud that, but" – here he pulled out a heavy file from a desk drawer and dropped it on the table – "this seems to happen a lot."

"Those weren't all fights."

"No. There's a lot of name-calling in here too."

Ronon raised an eyebrow. "Was I wrong?"

General O'Neill stared at him for a long moment in wide-eyed innocence. Ronon suspected that he had perfected that expression with much practice. Finally, the general said, "So, Atlantis…"

"Is that a yes?" Dr. Weir asked, the barest edge of eagerness in her voice.

"It wasn't a no," General O'Neill replied. "If you can restrain yourself from beating anyone up for the next two weeks, it'll be a yes."

Ronon grinned. "I'll try."

The general sat back in his chair. "And, you know, it helps that you're the best authority we have on Ancient technology, next to Carter, and no" – he looked pointedly at Dr. Weir – "you can't have her, too." He looked at Ronon. "My advice for the next couple weeks, stay away from Kavanaugh."

* * *

Teyla Emmagen joined the Air Force because she wanted to go into space. Her parents had tried to pass on their pacifism to her, but as a young child she decided that she wanted to be an astronaut. Her mother, a former deb, was appalled by her daughter's choice, but Teyla was driven and hard-headed – a lethal combination – and nothing was going to stop her from achieving her goal. But at the Academy, she quickly realized that she enjoyed the social sciences more than the "hard" sciences and certainly more than mathematics, and decided that maybe NASA wasn't for her after all.

Teyla liked the military. She liked the tradition and the regulations and that everyday she was forced to go above and beyond to prove her worth to herself and her commanding officers. And she's one hell of a shot.

She went to countries she couldn't talk about, and did things she could never admit to, and felt most at home staring down the scope of a M107. She would have happily continued on in that fashion for decades.

Teyla had heard whispers about a secret program run by the Air Force, but she never paid much mind. Secrets abounded in the military – she had been part of a few herself.

She was stationed at Andrew AFB for only three months when her CO announced that she had new orders, and she would be reporting to Cheyenne Mountain inside of a month.

After signing a stack of non-disclosure agreements as thick as the latest _Harry Potter_ book, she met a Colonel Reynolds who gave her a nod and a polite smile as he escorted her into the elevator.

"How was your trip, Captain?" he asked.

"Fine, sir." They rode in silence for a few moments before Teyla said, "May I ask you a question, sir?"

"Go ahead, Captain."

"What should I expect down there?"

Colonel Reynolds thought about it for a long minute. "Stargate Command is…unique."

"Do you like what you do?" It was an unusual question, she knew – assignments had little to do with likes and dislikes. But, he'd said it was a unique situation.

"I hate it," he answered immediately. "And I love it. This job will chew you up and spit you out if you let it, but I guarantee that you'll never have another tour like it."

"That is what I wanted to know, sir."

The elevator doors opened, revealing a stretch of concrete walls, and Colonel Reynolds motioned her forward. "Welcome to Stargate Command."

* * *

Teyla smiled at her team. They were her sheep, and she was their shepherd. Or maybe they were the goats among the sheep, each a stand-out in an otherwise normal herd.

Her smile slipped as her metaphor got away from her. Up ahead of her, Rodney and Dr. Dex were squabbling over the calculations on Dr. Dex's computer tablet. John was serenely studying the markings on the cavern wall, no doubt listening with half an ear to what was being said. Teyla marveled how a man who claimed to no nothing about science or math always managed to pick up the gist of it so quickly.

She joined John, stepping carefully around Rodney and Ronon in case their verbal sparring turned to a tug-of-war match, or, worse, an all out brawl. Ronon had size on his side, but Rodney was scrappy. She didn't know how he had outlasted the Wraith for five years – he was loathe to discuss details – but, whatever had happened in that time, he hadn't survived by screaming like a girl when push came to shove (although he was apparently not above using that tactic, too).

"What is it?" she asked the Athosian.

He didn't answer for a moment, intent on running his fingers over the markings like a blind man reading Braille.

"I don't think they had many encounters with the Wraith," he said eventually.

"How did they manage that?"

"They lived mostly underground in these caverns. Only went above when necessary." He dropped his hands to his side and looked down at her. "I'd guess they were smart and lucky."

"No such thing as luck," Ronon said. He seemed to be the victor, if the smile he was giving Rodney was any indication.

"It's circumstance and hard work," Rodney agreed sulkily – about the only thing the two probably agreed on.

"Know when to hold them, know when to fold them," Teyla said with a glance at the wall. "Is there any indication who they were?"

"No," John replied, and Rodney and Ronon gave similarly negative answers.

"Shall we continue on then, gentleman?"

She took point. John, in usual fashion, fell to the rear, leaving Rodney and Ronon to walk as far away from each other as possible without being more than a few feet apart.

A dozen yards in and the walls abruptly changed – smoothing out into something stream-lined and vaguely metallic looking. The narrow tunnel opened into a room that could have been transplanted from one of the auxiliary control rooms on Atlantis.

"I do not think we are in Kansas anymore," Teyla said, stopping at the sight of it.

Rodney gave her a funny look as he passed her, and Ronon supplied, "Her mother was a deb. It scarred her."

John stepped into the room and the place lit up like a Christmas tree. A rather high-tech, futuristic, decidedly Ancient Christmas tree, Teyla corrected herself. John smiled fondly, like a proud father, as he surveyed the room.

"I hate you, you know that, right?" said Rodney as he made his way to one of the consoles.

"Yep," John replied. He looked as happy as if Teyla had told him that Santa had brought him a puddlejumper for his birthday. "I don't take it personally."

"Hey," Ronon called to Rodney from another console across the room. "Did you see the –"

"Uh-huh," Rodney replied gleefully. "And what about the –"

"Totally."

"Is that code for 'we found something good'?" Teyla asked.

Rodney and Ronon grinned at each other, their previous squabbles forgotten in the euphoric glow of scientific discovery.

"That, Captain, is code for we found something amazing," Ronon answered.

Teyla smiled and shook her head as she watched her team in action. Colonel Reynolds had been right, she decided. There were more than a few days when she hated her job – when the things she saw and experienced made her want to give up, hide under the covers, and never face the world again. And then there were days like today, when the universe seemed full of possibilities waiting to be uncovered.

Win or lose, up or down, every moment was an adventure, and she was glad she was a part of it.


End file.
